August 5, 2015
a monster enters my cell
and I recognize myself from photographs strewn across the internet and placed among my parents things.
the black notebooks sit unused in pockets of jean jackets with Mont Blanc pens attached.
stop world consciousness existed before the medications and stability ruined the mirror image of perplexion.
an ant crawls joyfully on the lattice work of wrought iron patio furniture careful not to upset the balance.
and the dead birds come in droves.
parallels of superable considerations and a fly crawls across the rim of a coffee cup, awake and staggeringly beautiful.
they pray from both ends.
journaling thoughts later for storage into a vat of nothingness and I toughen up.
bleeding hearts are broken by mean looks and stern words spoken abruptly.
I kick the dirt under my walking boots and wonder how many creatures I’ve killed in similar fashion.
fresh page unshaven and unwritten, strands of a broken spine stumble all pencils in the margin.
sado-masochist with aim only for his own conditions tries coke for the first time. gets bitten.
shameful secret is out and we cannot control individual reactions to fake legs and prosthetic fingers.
a hallowed shell – a spent cartridge is still illegal in the right company.
December 31, 2013
New Years Eve
I do not make resolutions specifically for this date – I make them when I need to have made them. I made my last new years resolution many years ago stating that I would never again make another new years resolution and so far I haven’t. In the past several months I’ve made a few decisions that I am carrying through with into the new year but this is not the same thing. I’ve taken up playing the trumpet and am sticking with it with lessons and everything and I’ve quit smoking to be a better trumpet player (more lung capacity; better breath).
I like to beat dead horses.
There are many things I don’t need – a specified day to start something new is one of those things I don’t need.
But onto another subject.
I haven’t written in months and last night wrote a few lines of poetry – for my wife, always for my wife…
I love you
and that may be all
shared coffee over old television shows
and newer series watched in minute marathons
It needs more and I will write more for it but for now it is there waiting and I take the medications carefully every night and every morning. I build catapults with my son and watch him build with Legos.
and I sing the song of my people.
February 25, 2013
poem
god, or somebody,
bless
him
I take the doctors pink and white pills
and the blue/green one
with water before bed and
again when I wake up
everyday
and, supposedly,
they keep me sane and stable.
it’s not pleasant to die on the cross
or in back alleys and one way streets.
when I’m sick I swallow vitamins
and drink a lot of orange juice.
it helps.
and my hair doesn’t fall out
any faster then the approaching middle age.
I do not have cancer
though I smoke a pack a day.
It’s not charming to be awoken after dying
without permissions from the dead.
yesterday I spent an
inordinate amount of time in bed
for no reason
and had a lot of dreams,
none of which I remember now.
life, is boring – Henry says
and friends, I believe him
– Hoc Scripsi
February 8, 2013
untitled dream #3
untitled dream #3
we are west sixty-six revisited
we are bound
bordered between psychiatry and madness
and we celebrate in ceremony
counting one to four,
four to one.
in the arena of dreaming
a precipice with feet teetering
don’t look back!
playing Aeolian harp
singing our __________.
keep it simple, Orpheo.
don’t look back.
a love lost within scope of wandering
and vanished.
itself playing on bent shaft
itself a white lily
itself a love under guise
itself a nuclear proliferation.
– Hoc Scripsi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 